


A Christmas That Matters

by CommunionNimrod



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Christmas Party, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, mistletoe is Greg's wingman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:01:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommunionNimrod/pseuds/CommunionNimrod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling in love was something that was never on Mycroft's radar.  Greg assumed it had just been too long since he'd been involved with someone. Amazing how one chance meeting changes your entire thought process.  Written for the Mystrade winter exchange hosted on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Christmas That Matters

Christmas. One of the biggest holidays of the year. In three weeks time it would be occurring, and what an exciting and special day it was for everyone. Well, everyone except Mycroft Holmes. No, the Holmes family didn’t celebrate Christmas. They rarely celebrated birthdays, even. So, on Christmas morning, when everyone would be eating extravagant meals and opening a bunch of presents, Mycroft would most likely be doing nothing more than his normal duties as Siger Holmes’ eldest son.

 

Stretching his long legs out in front of him, the quiet youth sighed through his nose and typed away on his mobile. Barely out of university and he was responsible for multiple overseas accounts in the Holmes name and the chairholder in a large company in Milan. Seemed a bit much for someone who had just turned 23, but to Mycroft it was nothing. A coffee sat forgotten in front of him as he set up meetings and arranged his schedule for the following month, paying no mind to the bustle in the shoppe around him.

 

“Here,” a rough voice sounded next to him. Mycroft blinked, noticing a figure out of the corner of his eye, and raised his head to see who had approached him. It was a boy (he thought boy, but judging by his appearance and stature was likely a few years Mycroft’s senior) who worked the counter in the coffee shoppe, one whom he’d seen almost every single time he visited. In his hands was a steaming teacup. He arched an eyebrow.

 

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice smooth and indifferent. His icy eyes flickered down to the teacup and then back up to the other’s face. Jet black hair with the beginning evidence of premature graying on the sides, warm brown eyes, and lines around his mouth that suggested he grinned a lot. Speaking of, he began to grin, showing off a pair of white teeth.

 

“Thought a cuppa might suit you better than the coffee you ordered,” he replied, gesturing to the forgotten mug before setting the teacup down in front of him. His accent was one that Mycroft could only think to describe as West Country, and he had no doubt the boy used all sorts of bizarre slang when not in a work environment.

 

"And why precisely did you think that?" he continued to question. It might have come across as rude, but he was intrigued as to why this stranger would have thought such a thing (regardless of the fact that he was entirely correct). Unlike most people, though, it didn't seem like the individual in question was offended at all. Instead, he offered a shrug and focused on just answering the question.

 

"Well, you ordered a coffee and have barely touched it. Almost like you ordered it out of courtesy, or to give more of a reason for you sitting in the shoppe for as long as you have. If you preferred coffee, you probably would've drunk a decent amount more than you have. So... you seem like more of a tea person. If you don't mind me saying. And I figured you'd be at least a little thirsty."

 

Both of Mycroft's eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. This shoppe boy seemed to have an impressively accurate intuition. Nodding, he actually lowered his phone into his lap and pick up the teacup with both of his slender hands. "Well, I do thank you, uh..."

 

"Greg. Greg Lestrade."

 

"I thank you, Gregory," he nodded again, reaching one hand out to shake the one the other had extended. It was a firm handshake and didn't linger, being very to the point. He decided it was only polite to return the courtesy of introduction. "Mycroft Holmes."

 

"It's just Greg. Only my grandmother calls me Gregory. Nice to meet you, Mycroft Holmes."

 

"Likewise, Gregory." Mycroft was fond of formal names, always had been. Nicknames or shortened names were just... strange to him. Gregory smirked, as if getting it, and gave a tiny wave before heading back to the counter to take orders from the patrons who had just walked in. Mycroft watched him for a moment before turning to the tea in his hands. The steam had lessened some and he brought it to his lips, taking a small drink. Again, his eyebrows rose. It was a rather fantastic cup of tea. He could hardly find any complaint. He looked back at the counter again, just in time to make eye contact with the man who made the drink and see him grin before focusing on the cappuccino he was brewing. 

 

Mycroft blinked. Interesting.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Greg didn’t really know what to make of this posh bloke that visited the coffee shoppe on an almost daily basis. He came in, ordered a coffee he never drank, and sat down for hours. Someone that dressed and looked like him surely had a fancy office he could work out of, and yet he came here? Made no sense.

 

Not that he was complaining, though. The man was rather attractive. While he knew someone like him would really have no chance in hell of doing anything with this Mycroft Holmes, he could still fantasize. He blamed his lack of action for it, because it had been a while, but that was beside the point. The guy was nice to talk to. Ever since he’d brought him tea that first time, it seemed they started to converse a bit here and there. Mycroft no longer bought coffee, ordering tea instead (which Greg took as a personal victory for some reason), and they spent a good ten or fifteen minutes talking every day until Greg was either called back up to the counter or Mycroft got a phone call that seemed important enough that he usually had to excuse himself and leave the shoppe all together.

 

“Any plans for Christmas?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, as Mycroft was sipping from his teacup. The man’s fine eyebrows raised before he lowered the drink for response.

 

“Christmas? Oh, no. My family doesn’t celebrate.” There was an almost amused-looking twinkle in his eye. Greg wasn’t sure what to make of that. He blinked.

 

“No? Is it a religion thing?”

 

“Not at all. We just don’t. My parents… They aren’t a celebratory type. Presents, decorations,” he trailed off, waving a slender hand around the shoppe where they’d decorated earlier in the week. “They just don’t do it. It’ll be just another day for me.”

 

“And what’s just another day in the life of Mycroft Holmes?” Greg asked, grinning widely. A single eyebrow was arched his time, and Mycroft shifted a bit as his legs were crossed under the table. He seemed surprised at the question, and didn’t answer right away, leading Greg to worry that maybe he was a bit forward in the question. They barely knew each other, but Greg had always been a personable guy, and he was one to get comfortable with others very quickly. Sometimes he forgot not everyone was the same.

 

“Not as interesting as you might be led to believe,” he answered eventually, glancing at his phone briefly before looking back over the table at him. “Lots of paperwork, meetings with boring people, and more paperwork. Hardly anything to be intrigued about.”

 

“You’re talking to someone who works in a coffee shoppe,” Greg snorted. “Fat lot of good my education’s done for me.”

 

“What exactly did you go to school for, Gregory?”

 

“Er,” he blinked, glancing down at the table. He honestly hadn’t expected that. Most of their conversation was led by him, and while Mycroft conversed politely, never really asked too many questions himself. “Ah, criminology, actually. Want to work at Scotland Yard, maybe be a detective one day.”

 

“You’ll get there. You’ve got the mind and the heart for it,” Mycroft commented offhandedly, picking up his tea again. Greg felt himself smile, and blush just a bit. 

“Ah, thanks,” he mumbled. He was about to ask the same of Mycroft, when the man’s mobile rang.

 

“Mmm, my apologies Gregory. I need to take this.”

 

“No problem. See you later, Mycroft,” he waved, standing up and heading back to the counter as the other man answered the call.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

It was getting to the point that Mycroft found himself actually looking forward to going to the coffee shoppe on his normal routine. There was something that had become surprisingly stimulating about his conversations with the older man. They rarely had anything in common, however, it didn't end up being in a bad way. They talked about a variety of things during their short times together, and while he had been able to deduce a fair amount of things from Gregory, it was oddly nice to hear him talk about them freely.

 

He was also disarmingly charming. Most people like him were not (and Mycroft didn't mean that in a derogatory way, really, but that's just how it was). It was a surprising thing that gave him a sense of ease. He was comfortable talking to him. He talked to him about his own interests, a bit about his responsibilities as the elder Holmes, and his younger brother Sherlock. While he didn't talk about any of these things in great detail, he talked more about all of them than he ever had.

 

They were becoming...friends?

 

It was a strange thought; friends. Mycroft had never had friends growing up which hadn't particularly bothered him. He may never have tried, but neither did they. He elected to focus on his studies and his brother (once he had been born), so he had no time to go to parties, movies, or any kind of social gathering. He'd had no desire. This was oddly different.

 

So when he walked into the shoppe at his usual time the weekend before Christmas, he was surprised to see Gregory... not behind the counter. Surprised and disappointed. He pursed his lips together and considered leaving and going to his office. But why? He'd frequented the shoppe plenty of times before he and the other man had ever exchanged names. Brushing it off, he made his way to stand in line, his eyes locked on his phone.

 

"No need, got yours right here," came the familiar rough voice, followed with a light touch to his elbow. He blinked and looked up, catching the sight of Gregory standing next to him, carefully holding both a coffee and a tea in his arms. He was grinning his usual grin that caused Mycroft to smile a bit himself, and tilted his head in the direction of a table. Stepping out of line, the posh Holmes followed the other man and slid in a seat across from him, accepting the tea with a smile.

 

"Remind me to repay you before we depart, Gregory," he smiled politely, leaning against the back of his chair and crossing his legs down at the ankles as he sipped the hot liquid. Across from him, Gregory shook his head after taking a drink of his own coffee.

 

"No, it's on me."

 

"Gregory-"

 

"Mycroft. Seriously. I... sort of wanted to ask you out for coffee or something, but then I thought it was kind of dumb because I work with coffee, so I figured... Well... This would be close enough." The older of the two shrugged, glancing down at the table and speaking against the rim of the cup. Mycroft blinked. For a generally outgoing individual, he was being... oddly shy. He wasn't too bad at picking up social cues, even if he'd never put them into practice himself, and he was well aware what people meant when they asked one another out for coffee.

 

"Gregory, are you asking me out?" he asked, partially not believing what everything was telling him. Why on Earth would an individual like Gregory ask him out? They got along rather well, sure, but that sort of thought had never crossed his mind. At least, not in this kind of manner.

 

The question was met with silence. Mycroft sat patiently as he imagined the wheels were turning inside the other man's brain, his attention more on his coffee than his company. Finally, however, he looked up, and those expressive brown eyes met his guarded blue ones. 

 

"Yeah, I s'pose so," Gregory nodded. "I'd like the chance to get to know you better."

 

"You already know me way more than most," Mycroft pointed out. It wasn't that he was necessarily deterring Gregory from the desire to ‘go out’, as it seemed he wanted, but just stating a fact. An extremely true fact. A shrug was his response.

 

"Yeah, but it's not the same. I want to get to know you better when I'm also not working. We don't get the chance to spend any significant amount of time together here, and I... I'd really like to remedy that." 

 

Mycroft considered this. It made sense. It was true that this was not an ideal place for true conversation, being that the man also had to keep an eye on the business of the shoppe and the customers. At the same time, he designated the shoppe as a place to work as well, so overseas phones calls and extensive emails also tended to take him out of things as well. Gregory wanted a chance to have time where neither of this was to be an issue. He really wanted to go out somewhere with him. On a date? The word had never been said, and even though he was on the verge of those thoughts, Mycroft was not one to assume anything. They could be going somewhere as friends. Or... he could have something more intimate in mind. It was difficult to tell. Besides, he hadn't corrected Mycroft's terminology when phrasing the question, so...

 

Did it really matter either way, though? The younger man had to think about that for a second. He had accepted that they had, in a way, already become friends. What if Gregory wanted something more intimate? What if he wanted to actually attempt becoming involved? They'd known each other for a few weeks, but time didn't really matter when there were people who met, started dating within days, and even occasionally getting married within weeks or months. Not that anything so serious was being suggested. 

 

If Gregory did want to become involved, did Mycroft? He wasn’t honestly sure. Did he really have the time to even contemplate a relationship? With his work and family responsibilities, it seemed unlikely. Should he even consider attempting to dive into a relationship with the first person he’d connected with? It all seemed a bit ridiculous, and impulsive, and very against his nature. They were friends, however. At least, he preferred to think so. So… he nodded slightly.

 

“Alright, Gregory. Was there anything you had in mind?”

 

Any look of hesitation or nerves the older man had melted away once he finally spoke, and his face and eyes lit up. He sat up straighter, his normal charisma had returned, and he was more himself. Interesting. Mycroft liked the change. It was more comforting, somehow.

 

“Well, you said your family didn’t celebrate Christmas. So, I’d like to. Not actually on Christmas, but there’s a party some mates are throwing, a few people from here and from my uni are coming. Nothing huge or crazy, but… Would you like to come with?” he asked, talking a bit quick as he got everything out. A bundle of energy, this one. Mycroft quirked a slight smirk.

 

“I believe that sounds fine,” he accepted lightheartedly, though he was a bit nervous about the whole thing. Gregory was fine, but other people? He’d never blended in well. Though if it wasn’t too large a gathering… He supposed it wouldn’t be too bad. He hoped.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Greg was nervous. There was no denying it. He had fretted over what he was going to wear all day; taking things out of the closet, putting them on, deeming them unacceptable, and repeating the process. Finally, he’d gone with some charcoal grey trousers and a simple, yet nice dark blue button up. Upon arriving at the party, he’d been teased a bit on his look. Lightheartedly, of course, but both Donovan and Dimmock knew he was attempting to impress his plus one.

 

Who wasn’t here.

 

He wondered if Mycroft would actually show. Perhaps the posh man decided that something like this really wouldn’t be worth his time. Greg swore the clock on the wall wasn’t moving on purpose, and he drank more wine early on than he’d planned on to calm his nerves. He was sitting over in the corner against a window when Donovan came over and jabbed him in the side with her elbow.

 

“Oy-” he started to complain, but she turned a pointed look to the door and the words died in his mouth. In walked Mycroft, wearing a new three-piece suit (Had he ever seen him re-wear a suit? He didn’t think so.); light brown with a deep red dress shirt, umbrella hooked to his arm as always. He strode in with the confidence he always exuded; yet his glancing around the party was more hesitant. Pushing himself off the window, Greg weaved through the people and up to him.

 

“There you are,” he grinned enthusiastically. Mycroft’s eyes seemed to flash a bit of relief at seeing a friendly face, Greg thought. He couldn’t honestly tell if he’d really seen that, or if it was just the wine.

 

“Indeed. My apologies for being late, I got held up in a meeting.” Greg tilted his head inward and they walked through the room as Mycroft spoke, and he waved a hand dismissively.

 

“I’m just glad you’re here,” he said honestly. He had no idea how he’d come to fancy this man that came into the coffee shoppe he worked at almost every day. Through their ten, fifteen minute daily conversations he had become drawn to Mycroft, and hadn’t been deterred. While he still had no idea how the other man felt about everything, it was getting harder and harder to deny his side of the attractions.

 

Which is why, over the course of the evening, his body slowly gravitated closer and closer to Mycroft. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, not entirely, but even after he noticed he didn’t do anything to move away again. Mostly because no attention had been called to it, and Mycroft never scooted away in turn. The night went on like their normal daily encounters, except instead of coffee and tea, they were both drinking wine. Greg got progressively drunker, and if Mycroft did it wasn’t noticeable except for the pinkish tint his cheeks were taking on. It was so attractive.

 

Greg licked his lips and luckily didn’t miss Mycroft’s sharp eyes shifting towards the motion. His alcohol-hazed mind convinced him that what happened next was a good idea, and his body set things into motion before he could reign himself back. Leaning in, he closed the remaining distance between their bodies and pressed their lips together in a lingering, closed kiss. Mycroft did not kiss back. In fact, his body stiffened at the contact. An instant alarm went off in Greg’s head, but began to quiet as he noticed that while it wasn’t returned, he didn’t move away either. Greg finally parted, his mind still panicking.

 

“Uh… Mistletoe,” he mumbled, staring down at his lap as he tried to cover up his actions. His heart was pounding. Silence fell between them, before Mycroft let out a chuckle.

 

“Yes, the custom of kissing underneath mistletoe that has been documented from back in the 16th century for whatever reason,” he said, his voice smooth and showing off no possible hints of intoxication on his part. Was he just really good at covering it up? Or was his tolerance that high? “While I do not understand the custom, being that mistletoe is a poisonous plant that frequently causes gastrointestinal problems, I feel the need to point out, Gregory, that were are not under or around any in this current moment.”

 

Damn. So he noticed. Of course he noticed, he was Mycroft Holmes. Greg opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came. He just looked at Mycroft, lost, having no idea exactly what to do at this point. His thought process didn’t get much further, however, because before he could actually say anything the younger of the two leaned in and initiated a kiss of his own. Greg met the movements eagerly, and quickly found out that Mycroft was a really good kisser. He could feel himself melting under the touch, and his skin vibrated as Mycroft reached out and cupped a slender hand around the back of his neck, keeping him close. Then Mycroft was basically licking his way into Greg’s mouth, and Greg returned in kind, whimpering slightly at the intensity of the kiss. When they broke away he was panting, and his trousers weren’t doing the best job hiding his arousal.

 

“I do not live far from here,” Mycroft mumbled, tilting his head and beginning to drag kisses across his cheek, until he took Greg’s earlobe in between his teeth and nibbled a bit. Greg gasped at the contact and shuddered. Was Mycroft asking him home? Oh fuck.

 

“Yes,” he whispered breathlessly, answering the question before it was formed. He had never left a party faster.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

His 23rd Christmas had taken a peculiar turn of events. Looking back on it two months later, Mycroft could still sometimes hardly believed things had happened the way they did. Yet, somehow they had, and now he was dating Gregory Lestrade. A man he enjoyed being with, and attempting to solve yet always being surprised by. For the most part, things did not change in his life. He would still go to the coffee shoppe to get work done, except it was never the main goal of visiting anymore because he would almost always get distracted. If you had told him months ago that he would be slipping into the shoppe’s back room to give his boyfriend a good snog (Gregory’s words, not his) on his break, he would have laughed in your face. Yet… they did.

 

Mycroft had come to learn how it felt to have someone else occupy his bed. He’d had intercourse before Gregory, of course. Detached encounters in uni to satisfy the curiosity more than anything. He was by no means an asexual creature like people seemed to incorrectly assume. Yet now he came to understand what the desire for intimacy was. Some days he could get nothing done, he was so distracted. It was annoying. He would even have to relieve himself on days that it was extremely, physically distracting, something he had never needed to do before. But when facing his boyfriend, and the hungry kisses they would begin to exchange, the annoyance melted away instantly. More often than not the stayed at his, being that he had the larger bed. Also, while Gregory would never admit it, he was ashamed of the state of his small flat. Mycroft never cared, so long as he was there. 

 

He considered asking Gregory to move in with him. Social convention told him that two months was just a bit too soon for that, however, so he did not. But it was in the back of his mind. It seemed the logical choice for them both, an easy solution. It wasn’t just a solution, of course. It was something Mycroft found himself wanting. There would be a time to ask, and he would know when that time was right. So until then, he enjoyed things as they were. He sat in that coffee shoppe and drank the most exquisite tea that his boyfriend made for him, and smiled. 

Yes, his life had become considerably more exciting his holiday season. And he could never be more grateful.


End file.
